OPENING ON THE FOAM Of perilous seas, in Faerie lands forlorn. Or, in our case as we enjoy the last nights in the old studio in the El Dorado Building overlooking Mission Street, opening on the spectacle of Bruno's, where the night life is always churning. We hope, ideally, to go beyond the world and its concerns, with strains of music and poetry, with parody and laughter, with philosophical speculation. And these high aims, though even often served, nonetheless tumble from time to time-- some would say, most of the time, into greasy tropes of filth and imbecility. Well, that's show-biz. With Jett, Spy Emerson, KrOB, Puzzling Evidence, Dr. H. Owll and the Flail of the Lord, Michael Peppe. A force of Nature is Mr. Peppe. He understandeth not what he doth, nor careth. And the flailing disconnecteth and damageth the studio equipment. At least we did six hours. It began with the poetry of Clark Ashton Smith, moving then to a discussion of Slime Molds. All good and proper. But then...